No Place Like Home: the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games
by Sgarnett99
Summary: "In the rebellion, the Capitolites couldn't even feel safe in their own homes. This year's tributes will feel the utter terror that the district rebels inflicted in the Capitolites; twenty-three will immediately understand why the districts deserve the Hunger Games, and one will fully appreciate the Capitol's mercy." SYOT. Full summary inside. I don't own The Hunger Games.
1. Prologue

Full Summary: The rebels, once again, did not succeed in overthrowing the Capitol. Katniss Everdeen was killed and the rebellion's fire sputtered out, leaving the districts at the Capitol's mercy for a second time. President Snow still lives, and in his desire for revenge against the districts, decides to make this the most exciting Hunger Games yet.

**A/N: I'm very excited to be starting this, it's my first SYOT and I hope you will all enjoy reading it and seeing your tribute come to life! VERY IMPORTANT: Don't submit a tribute by review. In order for the story to stay up it has to be completely legal and I don't want to risk having the story taken down. Please, please, please submit your tributes by PM. It's not necessarily first come-first serve, and I will post (and update ****frequently) ****a tribute list on my profile. Thank you for taking the time to read this! I hope you enjoy this story. Tribute forms are at the end of the chapter!**

**~Audrey**

No Place Like Home: The Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games

* * *

_I lick the gun when I'm done because I know that revenge is sweet._

* * *

Dead.

Everdeen is dead.

Never to cause another fire again.

Never to create war again.

Never to breathe again.

I smile as I sip my tea, striding throughout my flower garden. I pluck a white rose from its stem and give a wide grin.

Roses beat fire.

The Capitol is now at its full power again, after a year of rebuilding, a year of shame, uncertainty and fear for the districts. Finally, we are prepared for the announcement. The districts should have known better than to rally behind a foolish sixteen year old girl. They should have known better than to believe they could overthrow _us, _the glorious Capitol.

Now, they pay.

"Sir, your speech starts in ten minutes. You're to be in your courtyard and ready for live television by then," A servant tells me hurriedly, checking his watch. I nod and make my way to my chamber. There lies the speech I have so carefully worded.

This speech excites me. The districts have had a final year to wonder about what was happening in the Capitol. They have had a year to rebuild. I've seen them all from afar. Each and every district, from One to Twelve, has now gotten back into a normal routine. Perhaps they even believe that they will be relieved of the Hunger Games.

Not a chance.

I make my way out to my courtyard, gripping the crisp paper that holds my speech. I place the paper on the podium. One glance at Malus, the new Head Gamemaker, tells me the cameras are ready. I clear my throat and a voice says, "you're on, President."

"Hello, districts of Panem!" I begin, relishing each word. "Rebels. After a year, I bid you hello. Please, rebels, take a moment to stop and think about what you have done. Think about the crimes you have committed. Think about the innocent Capitolites you have murdered with cold blood. Do you realize now how foolish you were to ally yourselves with a poverty-stricken, ignorant sixteen year old girl?

"I deeply regret the loss of each and every man, woman and child in this unnecessary rebellion," I reply gravely. "I would like, now, to take a moment of silence in memory of those who have passed."

Everyone in the courtyard goes silent. I can practically hear the silence throughout the Capitol; every ignorant citizen stopping to remember their dead loved ones.

"Districts, did you think, after your crimes, that you could escape punishment?" I ask, projecting anger and regret. "If so, you were wrong.

"You cannot understand the terror Capitolites felt as they were attacked constantly. You see, during the rebellion, the districts almost overthrew the Capitol. Chaos wracked our nation, and Capitolites could no longer feel safe-even in their own homes.

"There was nowhere to run anymore. To show you the betrayal and fear the Capitol felt, the seventy-sixth Hunger Games will not be held in our classical outdoor Arena. There will be a twist. Almost like a Quarter Quell." I know my words have powerful impact. The word _Quarter Quell _inflicts fear in the districts and excitement in the Capitol. Everything is back how it was before the Girl on Fire, the bane of my existence, began causing trouble.

"This year's tributes will feel the utter terror that the district rebels inflicted in the Capitolites when killing innocent citizens. Twenty-three tributes will immediately understand why, after being in the Arena, the districts deserve the Hunger Games, and one will fully appreciate the Capitol's mercy. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Seventy-Sixth annual Hunger Games."

I give a nod of thanks and know that now, the national anthem will be playing on screens everywhere throughout Panem. I give a satisfied smile. The districts will never escape our power.

Revenge is so sweet.

**I hope you enjoyed the prologue! Please PM a tribute; I look forward to writing this :D Now for the tribute application.**  
~Audrey

**Tribute application**

General info

**Name:**

**Age:**

**Gender:**

**District(please put at least two as it is not first come, first serve. If you think it's needed, explain what would vary about your tribute for each district):**

**Appearance:**

**Link to image of tribute:**

**Family/friends(explain relationship with parents and siblings):**

**Attitude towards Hunger Games:**

In the Capitol

**Reaping outfit:**

**Chariot outfit:**

**Interview outfit:**

**Training score:**

**Reaped/volunteered & reaction to being reaped/reason for volunteering:**

**Token (optional):**

(About your tribute)

**Personality:**

**History:  
**

**Strengths (combat-related and otherwise): **

**Weaknesses (combat-related and otherwise): **

**Preferred alliance (Careers or otherwise):**

**Romance (y/n, with what type of tribute): **

**Anything I missed:**


	2. Impressing Snow

_you and I, we're the same  
live and die, we're the same  
_

* * *

_Head Gamemaker Malus Aurel _

When I wake up, I can't help but feel fear in the pit of my stomach. Today is the day that I must show President Snow each and every elaborate plan for my Arena this year, the day that I must succeed in impressing him. If I don't… well, if I don't, I'll probably end up dead like Seneca Crane.

I _shouldn't_ feel fear. I have complete control this year, I am the most cunning Gamemaker yet, and everyone respects me. I have power. But this will be such a delicate Games. This year, we have to excite the Capitol while calming the Districts. The question is, how do we calm down the oppressed districts of Panem with the Hunger Games when the Hunger Games are the very reason they rebelled?

The answer is that we don't. Because, to be quite honest, I _don't_ believe the Games are the cleverest way to keep Panem quiet. They almost destroyed the country, after all. All they did was add fuel to the fire. The districts grew enraged at seeing their children kill each other year after year. And then Katniss Everdeen came along, pushed them over the edge, and threw the place into chaos. The Hunger Games don't help. But if I can make them brutal enough, humiliating enough, then Panem will realize our complete, utter control over them. Instead of being angry, they will be broken and tired. They will have given up. It won't matter to them anymore. If I can convince President Snow of this, maybe it won't even matter what my Arena turns out like.

Resignedly, I push the fluffy duvets off of me, pull on a robe. I make my way into my bathroom, turn on my shower, and notice, with a frown, that the water takes longer than usual, about four seconds or so, to heat up. I frown and make a mental note to get somebody in to fix it.

The high water pressure massaging my scalp soothes me, and the water is infused with a cinnamon scent, the smell of my mother's house. I wouldn't ever tell anyone that I take such great pleasure in scented shower water, because head Gamemakers don't enjoy mundane things like that. I can't help wishing, however, that right now I could go back to being a child again. If I were still young and innocent, I wouldn't have to worry about impressing President Snow today. But, then I wouldn't get to show him my genius Arena.

The whole outdoor thing is overdone. Okay, great, you're throwing your tribute in a desert. Wonderful, a tropical forest. Where's the excitement in that? This is the first year that the Games will be held in a cityscape. It will be the Capitol, to be exact.

A smile curls onto my lips as I exit the shower. I step onto a mat, which dries me instantly and leaves my silvery hair hanging down my back in a polished, glossy sheet. I pull on my trademark Gamemaker robe, imagining the prospect of making another round of tributes' lives hell. Ice white cheeks, blood red lips and night black eyes make me look just as evil as I am.

Abandoning all feelings of nervousness, I put on a pair of tall heels, hidden under my robe. Nobody knows that I am only 5'5. Yet another illusion. Downstairs, I collect the papers that sit in their place on the table. The press of a button on my sleek glass table projects a holographic news report.

_Much excitement in the Capitol towards having the Hunger Games back; several citizens- _The holographic news reporter is cut off as I press another button. I already know the pressure riding on me this year.

An Avox approaches me with a scroll. I snatch it impatiently, and read it.

_Dearest Malus, _

_Be at my mansion at ten a.m. in the study. You are to bring your plans for this year's arena. You are to explain to me your angle for this year's Games. _

_-Pres. Snow. _

I roll my eyes. It's a pointless message. Of course I'll be there. This day has been planned for weeks. I type my courteous reply and nod at the Avox. He sends the message and I hurriedly swallow two condensed food pills-I don't have time to eat right now- and head out the door.

I live close enough to the president's mansion that all I have to do is simply walk down the street. The city is finally back at its full state of glory; it took all those Avoxes long enough. The pastel streets are free of blood. The bodies have been cleared away, burned on the outskirts of the city. The shops have been rebuilt, the citizens brought back to full health. I've seen what it's like in the districts; they are all back to their regular states, so there isn't any point waiting around another year before bringing the Games back. I know they'll benefit from having the Games reinstated; they need order. The yearly event will keep them disciplined, scared, working.

I stalk up president Snow's drive and let myself in. Avoxes don't try to stop me; they know who I am. Everyone knows Malus Aurel now. I've been on the Caesar Flickerman Evening Show often enough in the past year. Through twisted corridors I walk, clutching my papers tightly, feeling nervous. He had better like my plan. It's the only one I have.

In the study, the president sips his tea calmly. His snakelike eyes follow me as I allow myself in. "President," I say with a nod.

"Hello, Malus. Please sit down," he replies politely. "Tea?"

I take the china cup out of courtesy but don't drink the beverage. During the rebellion, I heard my fair share of rumors about President Snow and how he gained power. "Greetings, president. I suppose I'll just get right to it?" I say, unrolling my papers.

Snow nods and I show him the first paper, touching its screen. A holograph of an Arena appears. I honestly don't think I could do my job without holographs. "This is our Arena," I begin confidently. "As I've told you, it isn't an outdoor Arena. The tributes begin in the exact center of the Arena, in a mock City Circle. Indeed, it will be a circle, ringed with shops." I double tap a small store and show him. "The shops will provide cover; their doors will be open; but they'll be unsafe. The coffee shop, for example. The food is poisonous. In it is a poison that makes it more attractive."

"If all the tributes eat poison, this will be a very boring Games," Snow remarks, and I feel a flash of annoyance.

"It's slow-acting," I reply irritably, pursing my lips. "It's designed to work its way into their minds, turning them crazy over the course of a week. This creates opportunities such as a feast. Anyways, the only edible food will be at the Cornucopia. There is a river ringing the Arena, but tributes will have to work their way through the city for that," I say. "The idea is that this is the Capitol under attack and there will be items such as ladders, to help the tributes onto the roofs."

"The roofs?"

"Whatever they please," I grin. "'Rebels' will appear periodically. Mutts, attacking them. The tributes are the Capitol citizens." Snow is smiling just slightly, the edges of his lips curving upwards. "There will be completely empty houses throughout the Arena, and an area for each district in circular fashion. Like the seventy-fifth Games, it will be in wedge style. Each district will have its own 'wedge of the pie', every wedge with its own specialized district twist."

The smile is still tugging at Snow's lips as he surveys the holographic Arena, but he says, "I'm confused. A district twist? Wedge? And what are all those other papers?"

I smile mysteriously. "Traps, weather arrangements, more plans…you'll see. I can't give all that away now, can I?"

"Yes, you can. I'm the president," he reminds me.

"You're ruining my fun," I pout, feeling very brave, considering the amount of Gamemakers that have been killed at his hands.

"Don't forget I can ruin your entire life if I'm not pleased," Snow says curtly. "A lot more than _fun _is at stake for you, Malus Aurel."

I gulp and say, "Yes, president, I know. I can't, however, give away the entire Arena, you know that. No Gamemaker knows exactly how their Arena will turn out."

"Your words sound very similar to Seneca Crane's, when he sat in my study three years ago."

"Yes, sir."

Snow puts down his teacup with a _clink _and looks me straight in the eye. "Look, Malus. This year's Games have to be a _smashing _hit. The Capitol is very distraught because of the rebellion."

"I know, president," I say. "This Arena is designed specifically to get them excited. It is, after all, a replica of the Capitol itself."

President Snow taps the paper and the holograph disappears. He looks at me and says, "Malus, I don't really care what the Arena is like. Watching children die isn't my idea of entertainment, but if you can calm down all thoughts of a backlash, or some sort of second rebellion, if you can convince the districts of our complete control, then I am happy. Go. Keep on planning."

I nod hurriedly, then collect my papers and stand up, push my chair back. I wouldn't call this morning a success; now I'm only convinced of the pressure riding on me.

To impress the president, I will really have to make the lives of these tributes utter hell.

* * *

Hi! So this is ch.2 of the prologue, I have gotten some great tributes but am still looking for 10 males! Please PM me if you're interested! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I may have another prologue up before the first reaping but I'm still looking for a lot of male tributes!

Oh, and if you could review that would be nice, it gives me an idea of who's reading the story; I won't try to force anyone to review but I'd like to know because I'll always keep the tribute of someone who is reviewing alive over the tribute of someone who isn't. Thanks guys!

~Audrey

**Tribute list so far **

**D1 Female: **Indigo Dorhmerr (InTheDarknessWithNoLight)**  
D1 Male: **Cheshire (Blue Eyes Arch Angel)

**D2 female: **Scarlett Luna (SafeEyesOpen)**  
D2 male: **

**D3 female: **Miyoung Tatum (Drinkthatliquorstore)**  
D3 male:**

**D4 female: **Venice Clark (t00lazytologin)**  
D4 male: **Ladon Clark (t00lazytologin)

**D5 female: **Harper Tyne (ImmyRose)**  
D5 male: **

**D6 female: **Mercury Benicez (JonnyGC)**  
D6 male:**

**D7 female: **Astrid CamBrel (Max Albina)**  
D7 male:**

**D8 female: **Colleen 'Lena' Reyna (AnimeGirlieGirl)**  
D8 male:**

**D9 female: **Rane Emiry (TheLightHolder)**  
D9 male:**

**D10 female: **Kassidi Samuelson (The Giggling Gummy Bear)  
**D10 male:**

**D11 female: **Icaria Notch (CircleLogicWorksBecause)**  
D11 male:**

**D12 female: **Etherea Keye (SilverGrrl)**  
D12 male:**


	3. The Reaping

**_I'm very excited to finally have all the tributes to start this! It took a while, but it's here. I'm doing all the reapings in one chapter, and then we have a train ride chapter with 12 POVs- one for each district. After that I predict four or five Capitol chapters before the games begin! _**

**_Character deaths are based off character arcs, mostly. If the reader isn't reviewing to the story, I'd be less inclined to keep their character, keep that in mind. _**

**_I'd like to give a shoutout to JabberjayHeart- a wonderful author obsessed with SYOTs who has let me use his format for my pre-Games chapters. I'm also shoutout-ing The Light Holder and her new SYOT, because we said we would :)_**

**_I have a blog- you can find it on my profile or at no place like home . blog spot. c a/ (take out the spaces)_**

**_This chapter is based off Maybe Sparrow by Neko Case._**

_Maybe sparrow,  
you should wait_

* * *

Mayor Jade Sheer of District One

* * *

The Reaping. What a tiring day.

Quite frankly, I hate the District One reaping. Everyone is so eager to volunteer for their death- don't they realise that they have a one in twenty four chance of surviving? Even the most skilled contenders can die easily. It irritates me to see the arrogance of these idiots and it's such a big production; washing the already clean cobbled streets, setting up cameras all over the square, hooking us up to the live Capitol televisions, arranging an escort, prepping the train, so on and so forth. It's just so much work, all for the sake of killing off twenty three teenagers. Sure we have plenty of victors, from the ninety year-old Glitter Dasher to the relatively young Meteor Perry, but more often than not, our contestants die. That's just how the odds are.

"Ms. Sheer, you're on in five minutes," the head Peacekeeper informs me.

"Thank you, sir," I say, smoothing my green dress and looking through the crystal clear Justice Building window. I'll have to make a speech- not something I'm particularly keen on doing- but this is all part of life, I guess. All part of life in Panem.

I exit the Justice Building and make my way out to the podium. Emerella, the escort, sits on a plush chair, looking excited. I throw her a contempt glance before beginning my speech.

"Hello, District One!" I exclaim, once a cameraman signals me. "How are you doing today?" The crowd cheers and I grimace. Idiots. "Wonderful! As important as it is to draw the tributes' names, it is also very important to reminisce our history. I will now read to you the history of Panem and our Treaty of Treason."

Clutching my cue cards, I begin the same speech I read every year about how Panem 'rose out of the ashes' of a warring world and became the glorious nation it is today. It's my typical speech but now, I add how the rebellion failed miserably, and how Katniss Everdeen was a 'fool'. The crowd cheers again when I explain the re-installment of the Games.

When I'm done the escort, Emerella or whatever it was takes center stage, makes a little small talk about how excited she is, and giggling, draws a girl's name. "Jana Smite!"

Almost immediately, a short brown-haired girl rushes forward, but a blonde one from the sixteens section, wearing a skirt and a low ponytail, pushes past her. There are a couple grunts of pain, a few punches thrown, and finally the blonde girl takes the stage, 'victorious'. "Lovely, a volunteer!" Emerella titters. "What's your name, darling?"

"Indigo Dorhmerr, your next victor," she says cockily. _I wouldn't count on that._

"Oh, like I said, just lovely!" Emerella struts over to the boy's bowl and dips her hand into that. I'm so preoccupied, staring at Indigo, the girl who just volunteered for her death, that I don't hear the name. But there are two or three boys that lurch forward, fighting to get to the stage. They don't even notice a fourth boy who slips through the crowd stealthily and gets up to the stage before anyone else.

The boy looks peculiar; he wears violet clothing and cat's ears. His feet are bare and his hair dyed a deep purple. He could be a Capitol citizen.

"I'm Cheshire," he announces into the microphone, oblivious to the seething boys in the reaping pen.

"Yes, and what's your last name, dear?" Emerella asks.

"I don't have one. A name is just an illusion, really- why should it be so important?" He asks.

"I- well- alright, then," she says confusedly. "District One, your tributes!"

* * *

Mayor Darus Slab of District Two

* * *

"Greetings, District Two, and welcome to the Reaping for the Seventy-_Sixth _annual Hunger Games!" I roar happily. I'm glad these have been brought back. It usually results in so much money for District Two. "A year ago, I thought I'd never be in this position again! But here we are, and it's time to read our customary Treaty of Treason!"

The crowd cheers- they're happy, as they should be. This is a group full of Careers ready to win.

My speech drones on and on, and then I, finally, reach the Treaty of Treason. "And so it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem shall offer up a tribute, one young man and woman, to be trained in the art of survival, and to be prepared to fight to the death."

I sit down as the citizens of Two clap and our escort takes the stage. He grins freakishly at the crowd and says, "Let's mix it up, shall we? Males first!"

After a moment, our escort announces, "Armel Mason!"

A boy, presumably Armel Mason, walks towards the stage. But a volunteer is behind him, gaining, and then Armel turns around spontaneously, punching his competitor in the face. I raise an eyebrow. Armel takes the stage while the other boy groans, blood dripping onto the pavement.

No one will dare to volunteer now.

Onto the girls. I watch as a name is drawn. "Jacquelyn Rayard!"

Jacquelyn mounts the stage calmly, and when volunteers are called forth, a girl with startling dyed-red hair runs forward.

I recognise this girl. Before she reaches the stage, I already know that her name is Scarlett Luna.

Her mother, Sammi, is fairly infamous throughout the district. A sex slave, that's what she is. I know of Sammi Kink because, well, I've utilized her services on occasion. Obviously, I planned to hire Scarlett soon, as Sammi is getting older. But if Scarlett doesn't win, I guess I won't.

I watch the girl mount the stage and announce her name. The two tributes are escorted into the Justice Building and I'm left anticipating this year's Games. It's satisfying to have them back.

* * *

Mayor Electra Volt of District Three

* * *

"And, out of the ashes of North America, rose the glorious nation of Panem." My history speech drones on and on and I can't help thinking of how untrue all of this is. I have to choke out the bits about Katniss Everdeen, and how the rebellion failed spectacularly, because it _didn't _fail spectacularly.

We were so close.

I smooth my suit down when my speech is done and leave the stage. Jessenia, the escort, makes her way forward, beaming. "We'll draw the girls first!" she exclaims. Well, they always draw the girls first, but I don't feel like mentioning it.

"Miyoung Tatum!"

A girl with auburn hair, wearing a white summery dress, steps forward. She looks slightly upset as she walks forward, but not as scared as some. I know of Miyoung. She's well known for the scars that adorn her thighs and wrists, well known for her rich family, well known for sleeping around in the district. I feel a stab of pity because I know that this girl won't even try. Sure, she comes off as bubbly and sweet, but when you're the mayor, these things get around.

"Any volunteers?" Jessenia asks. "Going… going… gone! Miyoung, you're our female tribute!"

The preppy escort digs her hand around in the boy bowl and pulls out a slip reading, "Jeremy Todd!"

Contrary to Miyoung, I don't know Jeremy. But a boy with bright green eyes and brown hair steps forward, looking more afraid than his district partner, and stands beside Miyoung. When the two unlucky tributes are escorted away, I can't help but feel a stab of pity.

They're both going to die.

* * *

Mayor Leia Brookston of District Four

* * *

"Well, it's that time again!" Jerris Minnow, the escort, announces. "Time to choose our girl tribute!"

I'm not sure if anyone will volunteer this year. These Games are sure to be brutal after the rebellion, and I think people know that. It seems like most teenagers with a brain wouldn't volunteer for this death match, but then again, most teenagers don't have brains. I know I didn't.

"Diya Allas!" I girl steps out of the crowd, shivering. She looks afraid, and I don't blame her.

"I volunteer!" A voice calls out, ringing throughout the square.

I crane my neck around with surprise. So there i_s _a volunteer.

"I'm Venice Clark, and I volunteer!" The voice repeats. A strong, vicious looking girl steps out of the crowd and strides up confidently. I know Venice Clark, and the name sends shivers up my spine. She lives at the community orphanage- with her mother dead and her father unwilling to take her in, she had nowhere else to go. But the fact that she's rumoured to have _killed _her own mother is what scares me.

Of course, we couldn't convict her. There was no proof. But it seemed to be obvious. It looked like a suicide, but the whispers were always there. I'm not sure whether or not I believe it.

"Oh, how fabulous is this? We have a volunteer! Do you plan on winning, dear?"

"No," Venice replies, sounding bored. "I plan on losing."

"Al-righty, then! Interesting response!" Jerris grins and sticks his hand into the boy bowl. "We have here… Ladon Clark!"

I gasp. What are the odds that Venice Clark would volunteer the same year her half-brother was reaped?

Ladon walks up to the stage and no one volunteers. He gives a weak smile but a tear slips down his face and I feel a stab of pity. Ladon is not suited for this.

Unfortunately for him, it's the one year that volunteers are very unlikely.

* * *

Mayor Felicia Wright of District Five

* * *

"Who's Harper Tyne?"

"Just a girl who likes causing trouble around the district."

I frown. "An average troublemaker?"

"Just average, miss," the peacekeeper informs me. "This morning she was caught… er… leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the square," he says.

"Why are you telling me this now?" I hiss. "We're kind of in the middle of a reaping." The escort keeps glancing over at our conversation nervously as District Five watches on with wary eyes.

"I'm sorry, miss. I thought you'd want to know."

"Later," I mutter. "Besides, she hasn't committed any crimes."

"And, our female tribute is… Harper Tyne!" Foy, the escort, announces.

Speak of the devil.

Harper Tyne steps out of the sixteens section and shuffles forward. Contrary to some of the fancy clothing, she wears a patched grey t shirt and baggy jeans. Boredom is etched onto her face, but under that, there is undeniable fear. Harper's brain is clearly working, dissecting the Games, wondering if she'll live. I feel a stab of pity.

When no one volunteers for Harper, a boy named Taren Sparr is called. He's fourteen and has messy blonde hair. He makes no effort to hide his tears.

It's so unfair.

* * *

Mayor Gallagher Joll of District Six

* * *

"Thank you, District Six. Now, I hand you over to our escort Patty Ferenzo."

My speech is over. Thank god. I hate public speaking and I hate this day of the year. I hate watching innocent kids get their death sentences handed to them. I hate thinking about the rebellion, about any of it. It makes me want to curl up in my blankets like I did when I was a kid. Not a very manly thing to say, but oh well.

"Thank you, Gallagher," Patty giggles, winking at me. I roll my eyes and take my seat. She flirts with everyone.

"Well, District _Six! _It is like, _such _a pleasure to be here!" Everyone stares blankly. Patty giggles. "You're excited, right?"

To the credit of my district, there's no response. "Alright, then! Maybe I'll just get on with the reaping!"

"Ahem…" she digs her hand around in the girl's bowl. "Mercury Benicez!"

Mercury Benicez is somewhat known in this small district for being, well…ugly. Supposedly she once had a blind boyfriend who broke up with her upon hearing what she looked like. I can't help but feel bad for Mercury as she mounts the stage and everyone refuses to take her place.

The boy called up is Notus Frei. He's seventeen and looks ready to take down every peacekeeper in the square. A girl screams. I wince.

Why is this always so traumatic?

* * *

Mayor Maple Vinessa of District Seven

* * *

"Astrid CamBrel!"

Another child sentenced to death. I can't help but smile a little. I'm so glad to have the Games back; they symbolise the Capitol's complete control over Panem. I'm from the Capitol myself. They suggested I transfer to District Seven- apparently my name and controlling mannerism suited the job.

I quite like it here. The people are boring, simple, and sad. Easy to control. During the rebellion, they became unruly, but that's all over now, thank god.

Astrid mounts the stage, cyan eyes flitting around. She's quite pretty; and it'll be even better when there is blood smeared on her face. Her blood, specifically.

No one volunteers for Astrid. She tries to look brave, and strong, and I give her credit for that. Maybe she's a fighter.

"Right! Onto our boys!" The escort claws around at the little white slips.

"Gatlin Fain!" She proclaims.

A boy with silvery white hair steps out of the crowd. Gatlin.

But when I take a closer look, I frown.

That isn't Gatlin Fain. That is his twin brother. Is that even allowed? I try to stand, but the head peacekeeper beside me pushes me down. "I know it's not Gatlin," he hisses. "I know their family. But it doesn't matter. I don't want a scene."

I sit back down, lips pursed.

Well, if Griffin Fain wants to die, so be it.

* * *

Mayor Guthri Hue of District Eight

* * *

"Thank you, District Eight. And good luck."

I don't really care what happens to District Eight, to be honest. They revolted during the rebel stage, and that was a hell of a lot of extra work for me. You can be rest assured that the Capitol will punish the tributes of difficult districts this year, which means these two tributes will get it for sure. Whoever they are.

"I suppose the time has come," the escort says. "The time to select our tributes, for, you know, that great 'honour'. Going to the Hunger Games." To his credit, our escort does have a rather sarcastic sense of humour. Supposedly he wasn't actually raised in the Capitol, and therefore, knows how some districts dread the Hunger Games.

"I think I'm going to make this exciting for you," the escort drawls. "We're going to do the males first." The boy called is Jaylen Adar. At first, he doesn't move, but then a thirteen year-old boy stumbles up, tears streaking down his face.

"Volunteers? No? Hm? I thought so… yeah… our female tribute will be…" he reads the slip. "Colleen Reyna."

A murmur sweeps over the crowd, a few sighs of relief, and pitying glances are exchanged. Nobody moves. Tave, the escort, taps his foot on the ground.

Eventually a girl with blonde hair appears, looking like a deer in the headlights. I feel bad for her, but in the end, she brought it upon herself by allowing her district to rebel.

Maybe that's bad or naïve of me to say. But as Katniss Everdeen fiercely told the Capitol when she was still alive: 'if we burn, you burn with us.'

* * *

Mayor Claire Barley of District Nine

* * *

"And our female tribute is…"

_Not Maia. Not Maia. Not Maia. _

Maia, my darling twelve year old baby. I can't believe she's eligible. The helpless child will not make it out of the bloodbath.

She can't be picked. She can't.

"Rane Emiry!"

Relief washes over me like a tidal wave. It's terrible to feel this way; I don't wish death upon Rane Emiry, whoever she is. But I would rather it be her than have it be my Maia.

Fear is prominent throughout Rane's entire face. She trembles as she walks up to the stage, heavy blonde bangs hiding her face slightly.

She really doesn't deserve to die.

"Do we have any volunteers?"

Of course not.

"In that case, our male tribute is… Brent Laura!"

A stony faced boy walks up. One I don't recognize.

I feel terrible. But at least it wasn't Maia.

* * *

Mayor Tass Vera of District Ten

* * *

Kassidi Samuelson.

That's the girl going to her death this year.

I know Kassidi because of her traumatic past; I see the fear in her eyes as she glances at the peacekeepers lining the Justice Building.

The story is that she was raped, by one of our very own 'honorable' peacekeepers at the young age of fourteen. The thought sickens me. I still have no idea who it was, so I can't fire them, but she has a son. That's proof right there.

She's trying to put a brave face on, and I respect her for that, but the fear in her eyes is undeniable.

"Are there any volunteers for Miss Kassidi?" The escort asks. "No?"

After a pause and a sigh she says, "I suppose it's our male, then! That tribute is…" the district holds its breath. "Everett Pine!"

Oh, crap. Leave it to our escort to draw one of the few names of a kid with autism.

Everett Pine doesn't mount the stage. He can't understand. I'm sure he doesn't.

An entire minute passes. "Er…Everett?" The escort asks.

Eventually, two peacekeepers push their way through the crowd to extract Everett. They take his arms, try to coax him towards the stage, while I watch with a wince. Everett Pine, confused, thrashes around and eventually bites a peacekeeper. The man swears loudly as blood drips from his skin onto the cobbled pavement.

I can't believe they just drew the name of a girl with a child and a boy with autism.

The odds are never in _anyone's _favour, as we've proven at this reaping.

* * *

Mayor Seria Flow of District Eleven

* * *

"Thank you, Seria," Hattie says as I pass the microphone off to her.

"Well, District Eleven, it is that exciting time… to choose our tributes for this year's Hunger Games!" She exclaims.

Everyone in District Eleven eyes her confusedly. Exciting? More like dreadful. Hattie swishes her hand around in the bowl.

"Our female tribute will be Icaria Notch!"

A girl steps forward from the thirteen year-old section. I hate it when young tributes are called. It's like… it's like they already know they're dead. Like they have no hope.

"Any volunteers for Icaria?"

Of course, no one steps forth. The escort moves on. "Our male… Kamante Dune!"

Kamante. His father died, that's all I know of him. I'm glad I don't know him personally. It would make it harder to watch him die.

When the two tributes are taken into the Justice Building, I sigh with relief and sadness. Another year until we go through this again.

* * *

Mayor Justice Flinston of District Twelve

* * *

"And… so… tributes. Of course. A pleasure, right?" Effie Trinket's dull voice rings throughout the square. She used to be so perky and happy, while Katniss was still alive. Now her pink eyes suggest drug use and her tired voice suggests depression. It saddens me to see the wreck of the woman who was once Effie Trinket.

Peeta Mellark sits beside me. Being such a big part in the rebellion, you'd think he would be dead. But no, perhaps he, heartbroken and empty, is left as a reminder to the world.

Either way, District Twelve is not a good place.

"Er… our female… Etherea Keye," Effie reads off in a dead voice.

The girl who steps forward looks like a Seam girl. Her hands are dirty, her eyes celery green, her hair dark and oily, her face gaunt and her body sickly pale. She looks resigned, not shocked.

Nobody volunteers. Not after what happened to Katniss Everdeen.

"Our male… is Jatlis Flisk!"

Jatlis Flisk stands on the stage, upset. I feel pity, seeing the fact that he's a cripple, and wishing I could help.

"Do we have any volunteers?"

A boy steps forward.

Effie looks shocked. "Oh, a volunteer. Lovely. Lovely, lovely, lovely. What's your name, hon?"

"Henry Nickle," he replies.

Henry Nickle is a cripple as well. He's missing his left hand- a great disadvantage that will be. Maybe he felt sympathy for the boy who was reaped. As well as being crippled, he's a known prankster for stupid things. Things like setting a box of rats loose in the Peacekeeper barracks.

I can't believe someone had the audacity to volunteer. Peeta Mellark watches with wide eyes as Henry Nickle stares at the crowd defiantly. Perhaps he will be a fighter after all.

"Well, that concludes our Reaping Ceremony. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favour," Effie mumbles, as Henry and Etherea are escorted into the Justice Building.

Despite the day's dark mood, I want to snort. The odds are never in anyone's favour. Never.

* * *

_Oh, my sparrow, it's too late_

_Your body limp beneath my feet,_

_Your dusty eyes as cold as pain_

_You didn't hear my warning. _


	4. Time to Begin

**A/N: Sorry if it was late, I hope you don't mind waiting, but this was my first go ever at trying to characterize tributes for a SYOT. I hope I did alright, your comments would be much appreciated. Feedback really helps me out. **

**I feel the need to confess that 3 tributes have been created for Bloodbath, because i didn't get enough submissions. They are Taren Sparr of District 5, Jaylen Adar of District 8, and Brent Laura of District 9. They won't have any POVs and will die in the Bloodbath. There will be a few tributes who will die in the Bloodbath (based mostly on realism and reviews) but it won't be too many. **

**There will be 4 Capitol chapters. Theoretically, each would have 12 POVs, so each tribute gets 2 Capitol POVs, but since we have 3 Bloodbaths, 2 of the chapters will only get 9 POVs. I apologize for the length but at least we will get into the Arena quicker. If your tribute didn't get a POV this time, (s)he will next time. **

**Please do review! Your comments are appreciated! I will be more inclined to keep the tribute of someone who is reviewing more because it only seems fair to them. Realism is also important.**

* * *

_It's time to begin,  
Isn't it?_

* * *

**Indigo Dorhmerr, 16**  
**_District 1_**

"And then, my dears, we find ourselves back in the kitchen. Lovely, is it not?" My escort giggles. I raise an eyebrow. It's not _that _lovely. It's a train. Big deal.

I glance over at my freak of a district partner, Cheshire. No last name. Just Cheshire. He wears cat ears and speaks in riddles. To think he's going to be in the Careers. I've seen him around the district, slinking in alleyways with some loser of a girl named Alice. He goes to the lowliest training center around and has amnesia or something like that. I'm going to enjoy watching his dead body be carted away by a hovercraft.

I feel a nudge on my shoulder and look over to see my escort. "I asked you a question, dear," she informs me. "What to do you think?"

"What do you care?" I reply indifferently, surveying the room with a nonchalant look. Not to say that the place isn't fancy, but… It's not something to freak out about. Our escort, Emerella, sees things like this all the time. It's really not that special.

"That was rude," comments Cheshire.

After a long pause, he says, "Then again, we don't really know what qualifies as rude. It is all an illusion, isn't it? Just something created by our minds?"

"Uh-huh," I reply, unimpressed. Cheshire irritates me and I will prefer him dead. I don't like the way he looks at me. The way he grins creepily and insists on talking in riddles. Sure, I am anticipating seeing who my allies will be, I'm anticipating winning this, just for the fame, but the people really make it difficult to bear.

But they can't see me angry, or irritated. I have to stay the calm, cool, collected leader that I was born to be. It doesn't matter if I'm only sixteen. I volunteered for this knowing what I wanted and that yes, I would have to win. Crux, my twin brother, will pretend I never existed but he will barely be able to get on without me. Mother will grieve and father will think me a disgrace.

I'm not going to lose. It's simply not an option for me.

"I'll be your mentor, Indigo," A woman named Opal informs me. She won about twenty years back. That was one of the longest Games in our history; Opal won with only one kill, a new record. It was a dull Games and I don't intend on winning the way she did. But I'm not stupid; she still got out of the Arena, and I should listen to her because she's going to give me life-saving advice.

I nod. "Fine."

Cheshire and his mentor, Jerred, talk strategy in the corner. Opal leans in towards me and whispers, "You two will be mentored separately. I don't think this _Cheshire _character is someone you want to be putting your trust and faith into, to be honest."

"Agreed," I reply. Cheshire is the strangest person I know by far.

"I'm going to help you decide who to ally with when we watch the Reaping recaps." Opal gets straight to the point. "There may be classical 'Career' tributes who you don't want in the alliance. And there may be outsiders you want to let in. Leaders, everything; they're all decided during the Reapings and chariot rides. So you have to pay close attention."

I don't want to get help, but I know it's necessary. I'm prideful, but not stupid. I recognise that. "Thank you. But I'm going to win, Opal. With or without your help."

**Armel Mason, 18**  
_**District 2** _

"_You have to come back, okay, Armel?" Jamie said. The glistening tears in her green eyes were out of place. _

"_What do you think I'm going to do?" I replied. _

"_You do realise you have to kill, right?" She sighed impatiently. _

"_Well…Yeah, but-"_

_Jamie slid a ring- the engagement ring that was supposed to be hers- onto my finger. "You have to come home, Armel, because I want this ring back. Promise? _

There wasn't anything else to do but promise. I love Jamie, but I don't get why she was so upset. It's the Hunger Games; it's not some horrible torture room, is it?

"Armel, come here!" A voice yells from down the hall. Our escort, Cornelius, grins at me from down the hall. "It's time to watch the Reaping recaps!"

"Right you are," I reply, making my way down the hall. Scarlett is already in the sitting room, twirling her unnatural red hair. She's pretty, no denying it, but once you're in love with someone it's, you know, kind of difficult to look at anyone else in that way.

"Hi, Armel," she says smiles, glancing at me, still twisting hair around her skinny finger. Scarlett and her mother are infamous in District Two but there isn't really any point in judging her for it. If prostitution is how they get money then so be it. And Scarlett is my ally. I may as well respect her even if no one at home does.

"Listen up, you too," my mentor says before I have a chance to reply. "The re-caps are important because you'll decide on allies here."

Scarlett's mentor, Mauve, adds, "It's your first impression of the other tributes. This is always a crucial moment for everyone."

I give a thumbs- up to Mauve and my mentor Granite as the TV is turned on and Panem's seal flashes in front of the screen. The anthem plays and then we cut straight to the District One reaping. Everyone in the District seems excited to have the Games back. It was the same back in Two, but they haven't really affected me until now. Four probably approved of their arrival as well. Either way, they're back and I'm competing in them. And I'm going to win.

In District One a sixteen year-old blonde girl volunteers. She introduces herself as 'the next victor'. The boy is a little weird, just because he's only named Cheshire and is wearing cat ears, of all things.

When I'm reaped, I watch as my fist connects with the face of the boy behind me. I guess it was a spur-of-the-moment type thing, but who knows, maybe the Games will be an adventure. Even though Jamie seemed to be rather upset about me leaving, she shouldn't worry.

I'm going to win, for my family and for her.

**Myoung Tatum, 17**  
_**District 3** _

I finger the fishtail braid that my hair is still in and survey the cuts that wind around my wrists and thighs like jewellery. The cuts. I hate them. They're always there, a constant reminder to me of what my life has become. It was an accident the first day I did it.

I had picked up the knife and then dropped it accidentally. It scraped down my thigh and blood flowed over my skirt. The stinging pain made my eyes swell up in tears but then I had realised… It actually felt kind of good.

The cutting was different from the time I stood at the edge of a cliff, ready to jump. I realised I could hurt on the outside just like I did on the inside, without actually dying. When father neglected me, it seemed like that was the only way out. Lindy tried to stop me from hurting myself, from fooling around with completely random people, but he gave me drugs anyway. It's not like he helped in the long run. Morphling did always take the pain away, though.

But that's not what people see me as. And I wish there were someone other than Lindy who realised how desperately I need help.

_Lindy. _

I glance at the infinity ring that he put onto my finger to 'remind me of him'. I can still taste his lips, but it was all wrong. I can't love him like he loves me. I can't put my faith into someone who will leave me someday. People are too unreliable. Lindy must realise I believe that. If he really cared about me he would.

I wonder if it's even worth it. Being in the Arena. Trying to win. I wonder if I'll be even more screwed up afterwards. I wonder if I should just jump. The female tribute from my district did that about eight years back. It's rare, but it does happen. Jumping off my plate before the Games began, that would just be a way out- wouldn't it? That's what I've looked for all my life. A way out.

"Come on back, Miyoung," my mentor, Tate, instructs. "You missed your Reaping."

I look up at the television screen. A 4 flashes on the screen, with the District Four seal above it, and the Reaping plays. "Sorry," I smile brightly. "I was just thinking about home, you know. I miss it already," I lie cheerfully. There's nothing for me to miss at home.

Jeremy Todd, my district partner, looks at me with that sweet, crooked grin of his. "You just seem so _happy," _he comments.

In spite of myself, I give a true smile. "Er- thanks," I say awkwardly, then give a laugh, to make it seem more honest.

In Four, the girl who volunteers looks bored. The escort asks dumbly if she plans on winning.

"No," Venice Clark says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I plan on losing." The tributes from District Seven, a pretty girl and a boy with white hair, mount the stage. In Ten, the little boy bites a Peacekeeper while being forced up to the stage. In Twelve, there's a volunteer.

On the screen, beside our host and interviewer Caesar Flickerman, are photos of all twenty-four of us. I survey my contestants. How am I going to beat some of these people?

Do I really even _want _to?

**Venice Clark, 17**  
_**District 4** _

"Now, Venice, if you would just tilt your head back for me?" A member of my prep team asks softly. I do as she says in silence, thinking about my Reaping. The day the bullet went through my mother's head. Everything.

Ladon Clark, my half-brother, is going to the Games with me. I can't believe no one volunteered for him; but then again, there aren't always volunteers in District Four, and it's been three years since we've had a regular Hunger Games.

Blossom Clark. My mother would be so happy to see me here right now. It sickens me to think that. It sickens me to think of anything related to my evil witch of a mother, the woman who pushed me harder every day, the woman who hurt me until I was practically invincible.

Sometimes I think killing her was the wrong choice; life at an orphanage isn't much better. But I volunteered to put my past behind me, and when I win, I'll live on my own in Victor's Village. I won't need _anyone _anymore.

"Thank you, Venice, dear," The same prep team member titters. "We'll take you to Sapphire soon, as you're almost ready to get your chariot costume. Are you excited?"

"Sure," I reply dully. "What's not to be excited about? I'm so pumped to be paraded around in a stupid costume for everyone."

"Oh, don't talk like that, hon," another prep team member says. "Sapphire put a lot of work into your chariot costume, I wouldn't say anything derogatory about it. That might offend her."

"Can you not call me 'hon'?" I ask irritably. "And, hate to break it to you, but I really don't think that my stylist's feelings are my number one priority right now."

"Well what is, then?" A lady with long fingernails asks, affronted. "Manners are very important, you know."

"Hm… let's think," I say. "Maybe, um, winning the Hunger Games?"

"But-" Fingernails frowns, confused. "But in your reaping, you said you planned on losing!"

"My God!" I mutter, rolling my eyes. "Can you not take sarcasm? Do you not know what that is? Really?"

This is exactly why I can't stand people. They're all stupid, especially Capitolites. There had better not be any idiots in the Careers. It doesn't matter, though. In the end, they'll all die.

I will be the supreme winner; in the end, I'll emerge victorious above everyone who though they could beat me. I've already beaten my mother; how hard will it be to kill off twenty-three teenagers?

**Harper Tyne, 16**  
_**District 5** _

"Harper!" My stylist beams, giggling. "It is_ such _a pleasure to meet you, oh my goodness!"

"Stylist!" I squeal back. "It is not much of a pleasure to meet you, but thanks!"

She looks at me, eyebrow raised. "Oh. A mouthy tribute, I see."

"Yeah, uh, I'm a person, not a tribute," I say. "Although, I guess we don't really count as people to you. You _are _just carting us here to die. But you know, I'd appreciate it if you treated me like one for now."

"I have lost all respect I had for you," my stylist informs me.

"I never really had any respect for you to start with, so there wasn't much to lose," I reply. "But thanks for letting me know."

The woman, who is clearly snarky and sarcastic, looks like she's finally met her match. We eye each other, not saying anything, just one surveying the other, until she finally speaks up. "Right. Well, I'm going to get your chariot costume. It would be much appreciated if you could refrain from saying anything rude to me from this point on."

"Yeah, well, it would be much appreciated if you could let me go home and live my life, but that's clearly not going to happen," I reply sweetly. "I'll try my best, okay?"

The woman, whose name I never bothered to learn, stalks off in a huff. I grin, satisfied. May as well mess with the people around me while I still can, right? I should get to have a little fun with this.

When she returns, I look up from my seat in the luxurious room.

"Harper, this is your chariot costume," my stylist returns, holding a black bag. "I hope you can come to appreciate it, and if not, that's not my problem."

_Touché. _

"Right, er…"

"Lucia."

Lucia presents my costume to me and I look at it skeptically. It's an unassuming grey thing, wrapped in black wires. It comes with a golden headpiece.

"What does it do?"

Lucia beams. "It lights up!" She presses a button on a tiny remote and the clothing begins to twinkle with tiny light bulbs.

"That looks like District Three," I reply critically. "And are you sure you're not copying the whole light-up Girl on Fire thing with this?"

"You don't have to be so critical," Lucia says, sounding hurt. "An artist draws inspiration from all around her. But you're not much of an artist, are you? You probably wouldn't know."

"You still didn't address the fact that these look like nothing but glowing wires and appear to be District Three costumes," I snap. "But you're not too intelligent, are you? You probably wouldn't know the difference."

"I don't know how you're going to make a crowd like you," Lucia tells me. "But you may as well try, because interviews are coming up. And the chariot rides are happening in about five minutes. So follow me."

**Mercury Benicez, 15**  
_**District 6** _

"Mercury, you look fabulous," my mentor Jess consoles me. "The chariot rides will be fine."

_Yeah, I look fabulous, _I think. _Because my face is all covered up. _My prep team was horrified to see me. Sure, I have perfect hair and a nice, slim figure, but my face. My face is what's ugly. They spent the entire four hours putting different types of masks on my skin and powder all over my face. Not that surprised me or anything. I'm used to the points and stares and whispers. Hell, it doesn't even matter anymore. It's, in fact, kind of funny.

"You'll do fine in the Games," she adds.

"Thanks," I mutter. Jess's reassurances aren't real; they're more of a requirement. She watches her tributes die nearly every year. But maybe I'll make it out. Maybe. I have skill, I'm not stupid, it's more getting sponsors that will be a problem.

Everyone else looks so nice. The red hair of the girl from Two looks beautiful and the gorgeous girl from 1 has a gun that, just a second ago, shot a blast of fireworks into the air. Notus and I are wearing old-fashioned taxi driver outfits. They're fine, I suppose, but District 6's industry isn't really one that makes for inventive costumes.

"_Mer-curyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" _My stylist calls in that high-pitched voice of his. I look over.

"Hm?"

"It's time to get in your chariot, darling!"

"Right," I say. I don't feel like trying to hold a conversation right now; I'm worried sick about being here.

"You look so nice now that we're through with you," he says, probably trying to make me feel better.

"Hey, thanks," I reply, rolling my eyes a little and letting out a small laugh. He probably doesn't realise he's being offensive, so I don't really care. I've gotten used to the comments on my facial appearance, and Capitolites aren't famous for their intelligence.

I climb into my chariot and nod hello at my district partner, Notus. There's no sign that he noticed my gesture but I brush it off. He dislikes me solely because of the fact that my family has money, I think, and I know that he's a thief. I've noticed him slipping small things like bread into his pocket before. It's hard for me to believe that someone would resort to something so low as thievery- but it's his life, not mine.

"Steal the show, ok, Mercury?" Jess calls as the doors to the City Circle open and the District One chariot rolls out into the crowds.

Since I want to live, I'll try to steal the show and win the hearts of the viewers. I'll try my best.

**Griffin 'The Swan' Fain, 18**  
_**District 7** _

Bright lights blind me. The cheering crowd is deafening and this is all so intimidating. I should be focused on the crowd, trying to appeal to them, but I keep thinking back to yesterday's train rides.

"_Wait," May said. "So you're not Gatlin Fain?" _

_Gatlin. Hearing the name sent a stab of sorrow through me but I shook my head. "No. He's my twin brother. I'm Griffin Fain." _

"_Why did you take his place?"_

_That was something to think about. "I suppose," I murmured, "that I would have been too afraid to volunteer."_

"_It's a stupid thing you did," My mentor informed me. _

"_I don't think that matters," I said honestly. "I loved Gatlin and am willing to take his place for him. If I die then I know I died of my own choice."_

_Astrid, the pretty girl from my district, looked at me in a critical and curious way. I paid no attention. Gatlin was safe; that was all that really mattered to me. _

"Griffin, try to wave," Astrid hisses. "The crowd thinks you're scared of them."

"I'm scared of the Hunger Games, not the people watching them," I reply. "But alright, I'll wave."

"We're here to try and make them like us," Astrid informs me. "They'll like you, but only if you open up to them, okay?"

"Why are you trying to help me?" I ask. Astrid CamBrel is, I'm sure, a good person, but she has no reason to aid me. We haven't agreed to ally or anything. In fact, this is the first time she's really talked to me.

Astrid doesn't reply, just gives me an odd look then turns back and smiles brightly at the crowd. After a moment, she says, "Well, maybe they don't want us to help each other. Maybe that's why."

Upset, I realise that I care about Astrid already. That I already don't want her to die, even after having this tiny, short conversation with her. But I can't ask her to ally with me right now. It's not the right time. I can't explain why exactly. Maybe I'll ask her at some point. But growing to care for her, and possibly seeing her die, would make it more painful for the both of us. And I hate pain.

**Colleen 'Lena' Reyna, 16**  
**_District 8_**

Finally, the chariot rides are over. We roll into the stables and I leap off the chariot, gasping with relief. Those bright lights, those strange, alien people, those loud noises… they were all too much for me. I'm surprised I didn't have some sort of strange breakdown. If I can barely stand to wave at a crowd during chariot rides, I hate to think what'll happen when Caesar Flickerman interviews me in a few days' time. The Arena is scary, but one of the worst bits is the fact that there will be cameras focusing on me the entire time. I shudder by simply thinking about it.

Jaylen, my district partner, stands beside me. He's quiet, just like I am. I suppose he's alright. He doesn't seem like the kind of person who has it in him to win. We haven't really acknowledged each other so far, other than that brief handshake at the Justice Building back in District Eight. I don't know if we'll ever get a chance to; we'll probably both be dead soon.

"That was lovely, wasn't it, Colleen?" My mentor, Strauss, asks. She seems much more ditzy and escort-like than your typical past Hunger Games victor. She won solely because of her large group of allies and charismatic personality.

"Er… not really. I mean, I suppose," I mutter quietly.

Jaylen gives a half-hearted smile at my futile attempt to conform to the expectation of her mentor. "Colleen, sweetie, it may be hard now, but you'll realise that these Games will turn out much better than you might fear them to be," Strauss tells me. She smiles sweetly and turns to my district partner.

"Yeah…I guess, maybe."

I wish I could be back at home. It doesn't matter if we worked far too hard every single day. I miss home, I miss Dusty and his childish smile and the way he would help me out around the house, even though he was only four and could barely do any work. The way Austin kept Dusty from getting in trouble. The way Emilia babied me even though I'm only two years younger than her. I miss them so badly; I was so happy and familiar at home. But here everything is loud and foreign and scary with the looming prospect of the Hunger Games and the fact that I almost definitely _can't _live through this.

"Sweetie!" Strauss's voice snaps me out of my reverie. "We're going upstairs now."

I follow my mentor, escorts, and district partners, not trying to engage in the conversation. I don't want to. I don't do well with strangers.

We get into an elevator with the group from District Two. It will lead us to the training center, Strauss says. My prison until the Games begin. The boy from 2- man, rather- looks somewhat intimidating and the girl has strawberry red hair. She's very pretty. She giggles a lot and twirls her hair. She seems like a flirt. Scarlett Luna, I think?

They exit the elevator and we shoot up to the eighth floor. I step out of the glass elevator to see our new home. Strauss gasps. "It excites me to see this every time! Aren't the rooms beautiful?"

For her it's something to be happy about; for me it's a jail cell.

**Rane Emiry, 14**  
_**District 9** _

"Well, how did you enjoy the chariot rides, Rane?" My mentor, Glen asks me kindly. I don't know if I resent the way even he babies me or if I'm grateful for it. I am one of the youngest tributes here, and I am twice as fragile as most of them. I should be happy that he's being nice.

"They were nice," I say, even though I thought they were fairly terrifying.

"I liked them," Brent, my district partner, pipes up. I have to admit that Brent seems nice. I'd love to make a friend- something I never had much chance to do- being home all the time-but that will only hurt me later on.

"Well, Rane, Brent," Glen and June sit us down. I look nervously at the two mentors. "Tomorrow training begins. Are there any talents or weaknesses we should know about?"

I speak up quietly. "I have Hemophilia," I mumble.

"Hemo what, pardon?" June asks, brow furrowed.

"Hemophilia. My blood doesn't clot properly. So I bleed a lot more. It's not life-threatening unless someone makes a deep cut," I inform my mentors with my mouse-like voice. I know they'll hate to hear this because it will make the arduous task of keeping me alive much harder.

"Well, some people will be making deep cuts," Glen says in an apologetic voice. "It is the Arena, after all."

"You'll want at least one ally," June adds. "Someone trustworthy, obviously, but someone who can protect you. Are you familiar with being outdoors?"

"No. I was homeschooled all my life," I reply.

Glen sighs. "Sorry," I mutter.

"It's fine, Rane. It doesn't matter. We'll help you out in the Arena."

"Determination will get you out alive." June tries to be helpful.

"Thanks," I mutter resentfully. I wish I didn't have to be so fragile. Why was I born with a rare disease? Or rather, why was _I _reaped for the Hunger Games?

**Everett Pine, 12**  
_**District 10** _

"Time to go to bed, Everett," my mentor's voice echoes throughout my mind. The birds outside are so pretty, and I wish I could fly like them. I want to go home soon. My mum said we would see each other soon. How soon?

"Everett! I know your autism can be hard, but you have to work with me."

My autism?

I turn around walk down the hall.

"_We'll meet again very soon, Everett, I promise."_

"_Soon? Do you promise, mum?"_

"_Yes. Very soon."_

"Everett," My mentor talks to me as we walk. "I think you should get an ally."

"Ally?"

"You should get an ally in the Arena, Everett. To help you out." What Arena? The name ally sounds very suspicious. I like friend better.

"Why-"

"I think you should ask Kassidi to ally with you."

Kassidi came here with me. I don't know her though. When they called her name, she went up calmly. I didn't want to leave because I thought step-dad and mum would come but they didn't. Mum said she wasn't allowed to come.

"Okay."

The lady who said she's my mentor, she acts like mum. I think wants to help me so I think I should do what she says. Maybe she wants me to make a friend? Maybe that's why she said to ally with Kassidi? I think friend and ally is the same thing but I'm not really sure.

We arrive outside a door. "I think you should go to bed now, Everett," she instructs.

I go to bed.

I miss my family but if mum keeps her promise, we'll see each other again soon. So I don't mind going to sleep. Maybe she'll be there when I wake up.

**Kamante 'Kam' Dune, 16**  
_**District 11** _

I can't help tossing and turning.

Even though it was so long ago, I can still remember the night perfectly, finding my mum kneeling over dad's mangled body. Is it going to end the same for me? Is someone going to mercilessly stab me, too? I mean, there aren't bound to be many bar riots in the Arena. But I'm sure there'll be plenty of knives.

It's not like I'm actually all that scared. There's just some twisted part of me that wants to wreak havoc in someone's life the way it's been wreaked in mine. Some sort of bloodlust. Maybe that's what could get me home; get my mum and me out of our dark hole and into a happy life of riches.

I just can't sleep.

With a sigh I throw my duvet off me and stalk out of my room, longing for fresh air. I pass my district partner Icaria's room, storm out to the balcony off our dining room and wrench the door open. I don't know if I want to be here; the smirk I wore when mounting the stage two days ago was something of an act. I'm not some crazed District Two Career who longs to be here.

"Couldn't sleep, either?" I whip my head around to see my mentor, Willow, staring at me. She has an ironic smile in her eyes. "A few years ago, I was in the same position as you, Kam. All I wanted was to win. And if I have one piece of advice for you right now, it's to die."

I'm not much of a talker. "Why?"

"Because you'll regret it. The crimes you commit. The things you see and do don't leave you. I repeat, you'll regret it."

"Nobody goes into this wanting to die."

"I stand by what I said."

"I want to kill, not be killed."

My mind drifts back to the chaos and confusion when my father went missing. My young self was home alone for two whole nights, wondering where mummy and daddy had gone. And when I finally went to search for her, I found her at the healer's, broken and dead to the world.

"Then I have one piece of advice for you, Kam," Willow says suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Join the Careers. And don't target Icaria."

Maybe they will accept me. Maybe they will ask me to ally with them so that I can be their puppet, their killing machine. And I wasn't planning on hurting Icaria. I may have strange bursts of bloodlust but I had no intention of hurting her. She's only thirteen. If anything, she should get to live for as long as she can.

"I won't hurt anyone who I don't think deserves it."

**Etherea Keye, 18**  
**_District 12_**

"Rise and shine, Ethel!" A voice that tries and fails to sound cheery rouses me from sleep.

"It's Etherea," I mumble, throwing off my covers, even though the escort can't hear me. Besides, I'm not going to bother correcting poor old Effie Trinket right now. She's rather downtrodden and I can't blame her. One of her favourite people, Katniss Everdeen, is now dead and Peeta Mellark remains here as a reminder of what a victor can become. She has little reason to be happy.

Stumbling to the shower, still in shock from the events of two days ago, I punch random buttons until my shower is at its correct temperature. I'm lathered in lemony foam and then scrubbed by automatic brushes. The technology here is extreme. Finally I'm done, and instead of towelling off, I simply step onto a mat that sends a jet of warm air over me.

Plain black clothing is laid out on my bed for me, probably what I'm supposed to wear during training. I imagine all the other tributes have about the same clothing as me, although I suppose it doesn't really matter.

At the breakfast table my district partner and copious amounts of food await. I've never seen anything like this in my life. Henry looks amazed by the dishes; Peeta, our mentor, sits alone, stirring coffee with a depressed look on his face. Pity courses through me.

"Hi," I say to Henry. He looks up from where he's piling food onto his plate with only his right hand. Rumour has it he pulled a prank on a Peacekeeper and getting his left hand cut off was the punishment. Law enforcement in 12 has gotten harsher since Katniss nearly overthrew the government.

"Enjoying your stay, Etherea?" He asks with a glint in his eyes.

I'm resigned to my death but I may as well have some fun while I'm here. "Oh, it's just lovely, thanks," I roll my eyes, sitting down next to him. I put eggs and ham onto my plate and feast upon the breakfast.

"I'm…I'm supposed to strategize with you two," Peeta mumbles.

My head snaps up, taken aback by his sudden words. "You don't have to do that," I mutter, not wanting him to have to go through more than he already is. "I know you don't want to."

He shakes his head and says, "First, Henry, tell me why you volunteered."

The boy beside me pauses. "He was a cripple too. I guess I felt bad. I don't know him. But I'd rather go in to the Games with no left hand than have him go in with no leg."

Peeta nods. "That was… noble of you."

I look at the known prankster with a bit of admiration. I was devastated to find out I was Reaped- not that I wasn't expecting it, with all that tesserae. I couldn't imagine willing to give up my own life for a stranger, just because they had a disadvantage. Volunteering for the Hunger Games is one thing I wouldn't ever do.

"You two need to pick up some skills in training over the course of the next few days," my mentor says. "You may consider allying. It will get you further in the Games, anyway, even if only one of you can survive." I nod. Henry seems alright. Glancing over at him, he seems to be thinking along the same lines as me.

Oh, but why am I even thinking about this? I'm going to die, I can tell already. It's no use when I'm up against strong Careers who are eager to volunteer for this sort of thing.

"Don't think like that, Etherea." Peeta is watching me intently. I frown. "I can tell that you've given up already."

"I-I haven't," I say defiantly, but it's a lie.

"Just go to training, you two. I'll see you later."

Henry and I oblige. On the elevator, we stand in an uncomfortable silence. "Think we should ally? Like he says?" He asks suddenly.

I survey Henry. He hasn't given up. "Perhaps we should go to training for a bit first. See how we get along. Then we can think about helping each other survive."

* * *

**_Any favourites from this chapter?_**


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